


Legion

by Looop



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Explicit Sexual Content, Genderfluid Character, John Wick!AU, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 16:12:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11604174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Looop/pseuds/Looop
Summary: “Mr. Barnes would like to see the Tailor, Friday,” said the Concierge. Then, turning to James, he smiled, “do enjoy your stay in New York City, Mr. Barnes.”The young woman led James down a set of stairs into a wide well-lit room. There was only one other individual, a dark-haired man in his mid-forties, average height, well-dressed, no visibly concealed weapons upon his person.James inhaled slightly and grimaced.Alpha.He could smell it from here.





	Legion

**Author's Note:**

> So this takes place in the John Wick world of underground assassins and hitmen. If you have not watched the movies, highly recommend. Gold coins are used as currency and a single coin can be used to exchange for a single item or service in the assassin's world. The Continental is neutral ground and no business can be conducted within the premises. I added a few minor details of my own. It's such an interesting world they've created in the films.

“Mr. Barnes, welcome to the New York Continental,” The Concierge behind the front desk, a blond blue-eyed alpha wearing a form-fitting charcoal suit, smiled benignly, “how long will you be with us, sir?”

“Two nights,” James pushed the gold coins across the counter, “Is the Tailor in?”

“Of course," Steve, if the shiny metal desk name plate was anything to go by, inclined his head, “Mr. Stark’s preferred hours at the Continental are between nine and six, however, if you are not picky, the rest of his staff are on call 24/7.”

James grunted noncommittally when the Concierge handed over his room card.

“Right this way, sir,” the blond alpha beckoned him to follow.

Steve led him down two wide corridors, past a lavish fountain and a classy bar before stopping in front of a set of heavy steel doors. A bored-looking girl straightened at the sight of the two men and pocketed her cellphone.

“Mr. Barnes would like to see the Tailor, Friday,” said the Concierge. Then, turning to James, he smiled, “do enjoy your stay in New York City, Mr. Barnes.”

The young woman keyed in a set of codes next to the doors and led James down a set of stairs into a wide well-lit room with mirrors on all sides. There was only one other person in the room, a dark-haired man in his mid-forties, average height, well-dressed, no visibly concealed weapons upon his person.

James inhaled slightly and grimaced.

_Alpha._

He could smell it from here.

If each branch of the Continental was set up differently in every country in reflection of the local culture, then New York City could only be described as a place for the rich and powerful. Its streets stank of old money and blood and it seemed that more than half of the Continental’s employees were alphas. James disliked the place upon entering, but Alexander Pierce was spreading his influences to the United States, and as his best hitman, James naturally had to come along for the ride.

“Mister?” The Tailor inquired.

“Barnes,” James replied quietly.

“Ah, of course,” Stark smiled before switching to flawless Russian, “first time in the States, Mr. Barnes?”

Surprised, he nodded wordlessly.

“How have you found America to be?” Stark continued amiably, striding over to the bar and pouring a finger of Scotch into a glass. James accepted the drink with a low murmur of thanks and took a sip. It was very fine Scotch.

“Loud,” He admitted after a thoughtful pause.

The Tailor laughed at this, “Fair. Tell me, Mr. Barnes, what is the occasion?”

“I need something for a formal event,” James said, setting down the empty glass. “Evening wear, light, tactical, but high protection.”

“Jarvis,” Stark snapped his fingers and called. Seconds later, a tall blond beta stepped into the room, clipboard and measuring tape in hand.

“Normally, I’m not bothered with this part, but today I believe we can make an exception for you,” Letting his eyes slide slowly down James’s body, Stark smirked and took the measuring tape from his male assistant. The Tailor beckoned him over to a footstool and said, “Details, Mr. Barnes, I need a bit more to work off of.”

While he rattled off his requirements and answered questions, Stark ran the measuring tape over his sides, the span of his arms, his legs, and if the alpha saw the surgical scars on James’s skin over the places where his scent glands ought to have been, he didn’t mention it. James hadn’t tried to conceal them with tattoos like the one or two other omegas he’d met on the job. His boss had never found his biological status to be an issue, and neither did James. He was on a hormone treatment via a sub-dermal device and rarely if ever got heats anymore, but over the course of his career, James had run into alphas who’d mocked him and tried to take advantage. Pierce had allowed him to have his way with those nice and slow.

“I need it by tomorrow afternoon. Would that be a problem?” He asked when the Tailor finished with the measuring tape.

“We can do a rush order for you,” Stark scratched his goatee with the end of a pencil, “shall I have Jarvis deliver it up to your room?”

He nodded.

“Man of few words, I see,” the Tailor winked at him, “you will enjoy meeting our Sommelier, Mr. Barnes, she is of Russian descent.”

“Call me James, Mr. Stark,” He handed over a stack of gold coins, fingers brushing against Stark’s palm.

“Tony,” The Tailor purred, eyes flashing.

 

* * *

 

Unlike the Tailors in the other Continental hotels, Tony Stark did not work for Nick Fury full-time, the manager of the NYC Continental had agreed when Tony suggested that their personalities did not permit 24/7 contact without someone going crazy and shooting the other. The special arrangement gave him time to work on other side projects. So Tony happily retired to his private villa each night while his staff took care of any business that walked through the doors during his off-hours.

In all his years of service, Tony had never play favorites.

Whatever clients the Continental directed his way he treated the same, until the quiet Russian that was.

Two days after their initial meeting, Barnes showed unexpectedly in his garage, the side of his face bloodied and burnt, his white shirt soaked in blood. The suit, however, was not torn in the slightest.

“How did you find me?” Tony asked cautiously, hand wandering toward the Glock 27 strapped to the bottom of his workbench.

“I need a car,” Barnes ignored the question and dropped the heavy bag he’d been holding onto the ground. By the dull thud, Tony guessed sniper rifle.

“The Continental provides an assortment—”

“Something custom and fast that can easily blend into the crowd,” He corrected himself impatiently, striding over and snatching up the glass of alcohol at Tony’s elbow. He downed it in three large gulps.

“Ah,” Tony discreetly placed his both of his hands back on the table, “trouble with a target?”

“No,” Barnes grunted, already beginning to strip out of his blood-soaked clothes, much to Tony’s alarm. He’d never met an omega quite like Barnes before, blunt and built like an alpha. “New contract. They caught wind that I was coming, so I'll need a change of plans. The concierge at the front desk told me you like to mess with cars in your spare time.”

_Goddamn it, Rogers._

It didn’t take Tony long to figure it out. “You want me to rig a taxi for you.”

“Da,” Kicking aside his pants, Barnes made his way over to the door, “where’s your shower, Stark?”

Tony sighed.

 

* * *

 

“You really like this stuff, don’t you?” Barnes interrupted him half-rant, and Tony paused to see the other man’s green eyes on him. He’d gotten the taxi from an old contact and had it delivered within the hour.

“Obviously,” Huffing and wiping his soiled fingers, Tony accepted the wrench the Russian hitman handed over, “you know, I don’t do this for just anyone.”

“So you keep saying, Mr. Jack-of-all-Trades.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me. I’m serious, Barnes. Do not make a habit out of this.”

“Hmm,” Letting his eyes flutter shut, Barnes stretched out the corded muscles of his shoulders before sitting back down on the hood of the silver Aston Martin. Tony let his eyes linger briefly on the white symmetrical scars on the sides of his neck, so vivid against his olive skin now that he was only wearing a white wife-beater and a pair of Tony’s old pajamas. He didn’t smell much of anything to Tony, an odd neutral being with all the signs of having once identified as an omega. He had to admit, his curiosity was piqued.

“When is the contract due?” Tony asked instead.

“Thursday,” came the lazy reply.

“That’s tomorrow,” Tony said sharply.

“Do you doubt my skills?” Barnes cracked open one eye. He didn’t sound offended.

“I don’t keep track of your sort, so yes, I do somewhat doubt your...capabilities," He admitted. Tony was the Tailor for the Continental, but beyond that, he wasn’t too deeply immersed in the underground world of hitmen and assassins. Working for Nick Fury meant that no one could place a contract on Tony or the people he listed as his family members.

“You’d better make sure my getaway car is extra fast then,” Barnes said mildly, letting his eyes slip shut again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Gah, my first venture into the ABO verse and this particular pairing. Don't know if I should continue or not. Any thoughts are appreciated, guys.


End file.
